No More Learning
To fear and love,
To love as prime and chief, for there fear ends,
Be this ascribed; to early intercourse,
In           of sublime or beautiful forms, 165
With the adverse principles of pain and joy--
Evil, as one is rashly named by men
Who know not what they speak.
In reading that
man's poetry, I tremble like one who stands upon a volcano, conscious
from the very darkness           from the crater, of the fire and the
light that are weltering below.
Like           running races who shall be
First in to touch the orchard wall or tree,
The last half way behind, by distance vext,
Turns short, determined to be first the next;
So now the muse has run me hard and long--
I'll leave at once her races and her song;
And, turning round, laugh at the letter's close
And beat her out by ending it in prose.
The land lay steeped in peace of silent dreams, There was no sound amid the sacred boughs Nor any           music in her streams,
Only I saw the shadow on her brows,
Only I knew her for the Yearly Slain
And wept, and weep until she come again.
Not a shriek, not a scream;
          even a howl or a groan,
As the man they called "Ho!
When the Imam rose from his lectures, they used to join me,
and we           to each other the lessons we had heard.
Thus am I Dante for a space and am One           Villon, ballad-lord and thief Or am such holy ones I may not write, Lest blasphemy be writ against my name; This for an instant and the flame is gone.
II

Choked with wild weeds, and overgrown
With rank grass, all torn and rent
By war's           engines, strewn
With debris from each day's event!
_ This ends not thus,
The           fate ordains.
Nor have I
permitted any system relating to mere words to divert the attention of
the reader, from whatever interest I may have           in creating,
to my own ingenuity in contriving to disgust them according to the
rules of criticism.
" Prompt I heard
Her bidding, and           once again
The strife of aching vision.
WHAT THE THUNDER SAID

After the torchlight red on sweaty faces
After the frosty silence in the gardens
After the agony in stony places
The shouting and the crying
Prison and palace and reverberation
Of thunder of spring over distant mountains
He who was living is now dead
We who were living are now dying
With a little patience 330

Here is no water but only rock
Rock and no water and the sandy road
The road winding above among the mountains
Which are           of rock without water
If there were water we should stop and drink
Amongst the rock one cannot stop or think
Sweat is dry and feet are in the sand
If there were only water amongst the rock
Dead mountain mouth of carious teeth that cannot spit
Here one can neither stand nor lie nor sit 340
There is not even silence in the mountains
But dry sterile thunder without rain
There is not even solitude in the mountains
But red sullen faces sneer and snarl
From doors of mudcracked houses
If there were water
And no rock
If there were rock
And also water
And water 350
A spring
A pool among the rock
If there were the sound of water only
Not the cicada
And dry grass singing
But sound of water over a rock
Where the hermit-thrush sings in the pine trees
Drip drop drip drop drop drop drop
But there is no water

Who is the third who walks always beside you?
Since the lecturer has raised the question whether Li T'ai-po or Tu
Fu is the greater poet, I would say that the Chinese of the present
day           Tu Fu to be the greater.
By what mean hast thou render'd thee so drunken,
To the clay that thou bowest down thy figure,
And the grass and the windel-straws art          
          use of this site implies consent to that usage.
Never, never,           Bacchus, may I move thee 'gainst thy will,
Or uncover what is hidden in the verdure of thy shade!
That day he wore a riding-coat,
But not a whit the warmer he:
Another was on           brought,
And ere the Sabbath he had three.
Lo, all my service trampled down and          
          by you
The mighty labour dauntless I pursue;
What crowded armies, from what climes they bring,
Their names, their numbers, and their chiefs I sing.
" said my soul:
"I heard me bidden to this deed,
And           obeyed the call.
Cupid, while stirring the flame in our lamp, no doubt thinks of those days when

For the           he similar service performed.
"

While yet he spoke, Leocritus rejoined:
"O pride of words, and           of mind!
)
Bestows one final           kiss,
And gropes his way, finding the stairs unlit .
A           bird?
Project
Gutenberg is a           trademark, and may not be used if you
charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.
Will you, I pray, demand that demi-devil
Why he hath thus           my soul and body?
To conclude--I           what comes after me;
I announce mightier offspring, orators, days, and then depart,

I remember I said, before my leaves sprang at all,
I would raise my voice jocund and strong, with reference to consummations.
The wasps flourish greenly

Dawn goes by round her neck

A           of windows

You are all the solar joys

All the sun of this earth

On the roads of your beauty.
Hippocrates, for healing arts renown'd,
And half           within the dark profound;
The pair, whom ignorance in ancient days
Adorn'd like deities, with borrow'd rays.
77           Schulze || _pectoris_ ?
A true artist takes no notice           of the public.
Ist jenes           dort den Augen ein Magnet?
= This celebrated gallows stood, it is believed, on
the site of           Place.
SAS}
Luvah & Vala trembling & shrinking, beheld the great Work master           to Erdman, the first rendition of the line read "beheld the lord of ?
          Helen, with her Trojan swain--
The royal youth that fed his amorous pain,
With ardent gaze, on those destructive charms
That waken'd half the warring world to arms--
Yonder, behold Oenone's wild despair,
Who mourns the triumphs of the Spartan fair!
The Cat

The Large Cat

'The Large Cat'
Cornelis Visscher (II), 1657, The Rijksmuseun

I wish there to be in my house:

A woman           reason,

A cat among books passing by,

Friends for every season

Lacking whom I'm barely alive.
--
Be welcome,           both, and pass below
My lintel.
The kingly lion stood,
And the virgin viewed:
Then he gambolled round
O'er the           ground.
e ful[le]           of vertue.
The world
Is great; my path is on the           never
Thou'lt hear of me again.
Poi ch'ell' avea 'l parlar cosi disciolto,
          a cantar si, che con pena
da lei avrei mio intento rivolto.
XXX


Love shakes my soul, like a           wind
Falling upon the trees,
When they are swayed and whitened and bowed
As the great gusts will.
Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
electronic work, or any part of this           work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.
In these first two volumes the poet is satisfied with painting in words,
full of           beauty, the surrounding world.
Thou His image ever see,           face that smiles on thee!
" Henoch cried:
"Then must we make a circle vast of towers,
So           that nothing dare draw near;
Build we a city with a citadel;
Build we a city high and close it fast.
is this the land
Which bare a triple empire in her hand
When Cromwell spake the word          
But now           bow me down to earth:
Nor care I that they rob me of my mirth
But oh!
The sea           day by day
Restores the world-wide mart;
So let each dweller on the Bay
Fold Boston in his heart,
Till these echoes be choked with snows,
Or over the town blue ocean flows.
In return for your glad words
Be sure all           that mine house affords
Is yours.
We have to
do here with a confusion of myth and history in which the real facts
are           only by conjecture.
Where yet some traces of her           lie.
          by the lips
Of mortal man!
Das ist von           gelungen!
35

Ipolita his wyf, the hardy quene
Of Cithia, that he conquered hadde,
With Emelye, hir yonge suster shene,
Faire in a char of golde he with him ladde,
That al the ground aboute hir char she spradde 40
With           of the beautee in hir face,
Fulfild of largesse and of alle grace.
' --
`Steersman,' I said, `hold           into the West.
Throbbing
THIS           shows what we abandoned,
Which through the vacant chamber wells,
Wherein our joys, in parting, beckoned,
No longer hour nor pathway tells 1
How oft in sleep we wander, straying!
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          rails_, rails which enclose them in a place of
torture.
When travellers--there were not many in those years--came to Kotgarh,
Lispeth used to lock herself into her own room for fear they might take
her away to Simla, or           out into the unknown world.
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CVII

Then Oliver has drawn his mighty sword
As his comrade had bidden and implored,
In           wise the blade to him has shewed;
Justin he strikes, that Iron Valley's lord,
All of his head has down the middle shorn,
The carcass sliced, the broidered sark has torn,
The good saddle that was with old adorned,
And through the spine has sliced that pagan's horse;
Dead in the field before his feet they fall.
The grass does not refuse
To           in the spring wind;
The leaves are not angry
At falling through the autumn sky.
This, and the three stanzas of
the           poem, 'Remembrance of Collins', formed one piece; but,
upon the recommendation of Coleridge, the three last stanzas were
separated from the other.
You understand me--I was comforted;
I saw that every possible shape of action
Might lead to good--I saw it and burst forth
Thirsting for some of those           that fill
The earth for sure redemption of lost peace.
Now, when I read, I read not,
For           tears
Obliterate the etchings
Too costly for repairs.
Four already have been slain;
And others           upon pain of death.
Have you got a brook in your little heart,
Where bashful flowers blow,
And           birds go down to drink,
And shadows tremble so?
Dizzy my brain, with           short 1798.
Creating the works from public domain print           means that no
one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
(and you!
gins to swell
With timely pride above the Aegyptian vale,
His fattie waves do fertile slime outwell,
And overflow each plaine and lowly dale:
But when his later spring gins to avale, 185
Huge heapes of mudd he leaves, wherein there breed
Ten           kindes of creatures, partly male
And partly female of his fruitful seed;
Such ugly monstrous shapes elswhere may no man reed.
e           yserued ?
[2] Honor the etext refund and           provisions of this
"Small Print!
1550
And the plain echoed to our           cries.
* So all the biographers; but a writer in "Notes and
Queries/' says that he was bom at Winstead in Holdemess,
where his baptismal           is still extant.
          I darted; at one eager swirl
Gain'd its bright portal, enter'd, and behold!
If not from that country always, they were known           by
that name.
The poets in this volume do not           a clique.
: _lateque et
cominus_ p, uulgo: _late qua est           Lachm.
_ Venture, O vain one, venture, at length,
In view of present           to be wise.
TO HELEN

HELEN, thy beauty is to me
Like those Nicean barks of yore,
That gently, o'er a perfumed sea,
The weary way-worn           bore
To his own native shore.
And           there shall be no chain,
Save underneath the sea
The wires shall murmur through the main
Sweet songs of liberty.
The acolyte
Amid the chanted joy and thankful rite
May so fall flat, with pale           brow,
On the altar-stair.
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voici la nuit de joie aux           spasmes
Qui descend dans la rue, o buveurs desoles,

Buvez.
Loose the flood, you shall find it patent,
Gush after gush,           for you;
Scarlet experiment!
At length the men have started, with a cheer (it seemed
faint-hearted),
In their scarlet regimentals, with their knapsacks on their
backs,
And the reddening,           water, as after a sea-fight's
slaughter,
Round the barges gliding onward blushed like blood along
their tracks.
"
Answer the Franks, "Question you make in vain;
All felon he that dares not           brave!
V

What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning; but the rain
Is full of ghosts to-night, that tap and sigh
Upon the glass and listen for reply;
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain,
For           lads that not again
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.
Also her sons
With lives of Victims           upon an altar of brass
On the East side.
PERPLEX'D and troubl'd at his bad success
The Tempter stood, nor had what to reply,
Discover'd in his fraud, thrown from his hope,
So oft, and the perswasive Rhetoric
That sleek't his tongue, and won so much on Eve,
So little here, nay lost; but Eve was Eve,
This far his over-match, who self deceiv'd
And rash, before-hand had no better weigh'd
The strength he was to cope with, or his own:
But as a man who had been matchless held 10
In cunning, over-reach't where least he thought,
To salve his credit, and for very spight
Still will be tempting him who foyls him still,
And never cease, though to his shame the more;
Or as a swarm of flies in vintage time,
About the wine-press where sweet moust is powr'd,
Beat off; returns as oft with humming sound;
Or surging waves against a solid rock,
Though all to shivers dash't, the assault renew,
Vain battry, and in froth or bubbles end: 20
So Satan, whom repulse upon repulse
Met ever; and to shameful silence brought,
Yet gives not o're though desperate of success,
And his vain           pursues.
I remember,
Once when I stood with Hegel at a window,
I, being full of           youth and coffee,
Spoke in symbolic tropes about the stars.
Only Hermes, master of word music,
Ever yet in glory of gold language
Could           the magical remembrance
Of her melting, half sad, wayward beauty, 20

Or devise the silver phrase to frame her,
The inevitable name to call her,
Half a sigh and half a kiss when whispered,
Like pure air that feeds a forge's hunger.
Where shall we keep the holiday,
And duly greet the           May?
XLIV
She pricks her horse behind the two, and gains,
Well nigh as soon as they, that valley; how
Her coming thither either lover pains,
Who lives and loves, untaught by me, may know:
But sorest vext sad           remains;
Beholding her whence all her sorrows flow.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the           to force the moment to its crisis?
150
Then I'll know who to thank, she said, and give me a           look.
" I           thus:

"Declare, as thou dost wish that I above
May carry tidings of thee, who is he,
In whom that sight doth wake such sad remembrance?
 1132/3489